


After, In the Dark

by arbitraryspace



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-22
Updated: 2010-10-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitraryspace/pseuds/arbitraryspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the Valiant fiasco, Ten takes up a new hobby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After, In the Dark

_After, in the dark, the Doctor was never quite sure if he'd managed to fuck some honest fatigue into the Master's servos, or if the Master's weary smirk was merely a byproduct of his best enemy's unsurpassed talent for self-delusion. He supposed he wouldn't mind if the truth lay somewhere in between the two scenarios. The former flattered his ego, while the latter would indicate that the Master was finally growing comfortable with their... domestic circumstances._

"Would you stop fidgeting?" The Doctor complained, mostly to fill the silence before someone said something embarrassing. "You'll bruise my ribs again."

"If you were concerned about bruised ribs, my dear, then you ought to have mentioned that an hour ago."

"Perhaps I did and you were too caught up in wailing like a Orphaxian catamite to notice," the Doctor said.

"Mmm. Perhaps."

The Master, dastardly intergalactic svengali that he was, completely ignored the Doctor's comfort in favour of keeping his place sprawled across the Doctor's chest. Typical. So typical. Never mind that he was an android, solid and forever, and that he could keep the Doctor pinned against him with the force of his little finger. Never mind that his beard itched against the Doctor's chest and that his body heat left the Doctor all sweaty, oh no,   
that didn't matter, because sex always reset his emotional settings to 'clingy' and 'smug'. Maybe there was a button for it near his prostate. The Doctor couldn't recall installing one, but the Master could get up to all sorts of internal rewiring while he was out.

The Doctor lodged a firm protest against this shoddy treatment, by way of burying his nose in the Master's soft, dark hair, and accidentally brushing his lips against the Master's forehead. Just see if he brought back a souvenir from his next mission for that troublesome High Council.

"Oi! Doctor!"

The Doctor's pen stuttered to a halt, his writing interrupted by a Donna-sized shriek from the console room.

"What it is?" He yelled back.

"It's the vidphone! Mister Wang is calling you again!"

The Doctor winced. "I wish you wouldn't talk about the fourteenth Alpha Centaurian vizier like that. He can't help the way he's shaped, and their species doesn't even have-- oh, never mind. Just hold on, I'll be right there."

The Doctor closed the lock on the journal labelled 'Shalka vol. 4', and ran off to keep Donna from getting him into another diplomatic incident with the Shadow Proclamation.


End file.
